


Against the Grain of Dystopic Claims

by isawrightless



Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, Red Hood and the Outlaws (Comics), Red Robin (Comics)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-26
Updated: 2017-05-26
Packaged: 2018-11-05 02:40:47
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 859
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11004279
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/isawrightless/pseuds/isawrightless
Summary: Tim comes back and Jason is the first person he meets.





	Against the Grain of Dystopic Claims

Jason clings to Tim like a wounded animal and he doesn’t give a fuck about anything else, not even for explanations. He’s just glad, heart ready to burst out of his chest as he grabs the younger man by the arms, pulls him into a mess of a kiss, desperate and helpless, in need. He feels Tim’s hands on his shoulders, his fingers digging into the leather of his jacket as if he doesn’t believe this is happening either.

When they break apart Jason notices Tim’s bruises, the messy hair and the beard, notices the open cut on the corner of his bottom lip which explains the taste of iron on his tongue. His chest burns at the sight: in one way or another they had all taken comfort in the fact Tim had died protecting people, being a hero. That bullshit story you convince yourself to make the pain a little more bearable. Yet here he is, alive and hurt and who knows for how long he’s been hurting, and Jason can’t find the balance between happiness and rage for whoever or whatever took Tim away from them, from him.

There’s a lot he wants to say but the words fail to leave his mouth, at least for now. All he does is stare, both of them panting, and then Jason cups Tim’s face and there’s another kiss but it’s quick and noisy and he doesn’t let go, no, he’s scared that if he does Tim might crumble in his arms, dissolve like a dream.

Forehead on his, he hasn’t heard Tim’s voice yet, not properly, and the realization sinks in and sets his heart racing, please be real, he thinks before saying “I thought you were dead” in anguish, a warm and distressed tone that gives away his love.

Tim nods, looking down at his own feet for a second, trying to compress the explanations, make them shorter somehow because he doesn’t have the strength to talk about it.

“I was trapped,” Tim says, and it’s almost a whisper, almost a confession rather than a justification.

“Where?”

“I don’t know.”

“Tim-”

“I don’t know, I just..I fought my way out but I-” Tim flinches and backs away from Jason, his left hand going over his right side, his jaw clenched tight but he doesn’t notice it, he doesn’t notice Jason’s hand sliding down his shoulders then stopping on top of his own, right where it hurts.

“Easy,” he says, all gentle and sweet, helping Tim sit on the couch. “Wait here,” and then he leaves the room.

Looking around, Tim can only think about Jason’s couch, how comfortable it is and how much he missed this chaos apartment being used as a safehouse. Just on the edge of the city, broken but useful. The first place Tim’s wounded body and tired mind dragged him to.

Jason comes back holding a First Aid kit, hair disheveled and sticking up as if he ran his hands through it way too many times.

“Okay, let me see it.”

“It’s not that bad.”

“Last time you said that you ended up with 20 stictches on your forehead.”

“And 20 stitches is not that-”

“Let me see it.”

Jason’s voice soaks up the outside noise, hides them from the world. It’s the urgency, Tim thinks, the way Jason demands things with a certain charm that does the trick. Sighing, he takes off the upper part of what was once his Red Robin uniform and winces as he throws the piece of clothing on the floor. Jason scans him all over: the fresh cuts and new scars, the purple bruises and red marks on his pale skin and he reaches out carefully, his fingertips tracing some of the healed wounds lightly.

“Who the hell did this to you?” Jason asks but he’s not expecting an answer, not really, and Tim is thankful for that because his head feels heavy, he’s trying so hard not to fall apart, not to succumb entirely into the kindness being offered to him.

What if it slips away?

So it’s quiet for a while-enough for Tim to get lost in the way Jason takes care of him, patiently, cleaning every cut and avoiding pressing too hard on the bruises.

“At least there’s nothing broken.”

“You’re the only one who knows I’m here,” Tim blurts out as a response, but he doesn’t know why. It feels like an important piece of information, like something Jason needs to know more than anything else.

There’s a subtle change in Jason’s expression after that small confession. He stares into Tim’s eyes, shakes his head and smirks, puts aside the First Aid kit and snorts. “Timmy, Timmy…” he starts, and before anything else can be said Jason gets to him again, traps him into a long kiss and it’s just as hard as the first time: sweet and imposing, Tim’s hand on Jason’s thigh, asking for more like he always does.

“Thank you,” Jason says, leaning back.

“For coming here first?”

“For not being dead.”

With a sigh, Tim rests his head on Jason’s shoulder, smiles, closes his eyes and falls asleep.


End file.
